


Cold-Blooded

by rowenablade



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Crowley Whump (Good Omens), Dark, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Face-Fucking, Fic within a Fic, Gabriel is terrible, Hurt No Comfort, I Cannot Stress that Enough, Light Bondage, M/M, Memory Alteration, No Plot/Plotless, Somnophilia, Stalking, rapist pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-27
Packaged: 2021-03-13 09:29:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,028
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29026506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenablade/pseuds/rowenablade
Summary: Gabriel catches Crowley at a vulnerable moment.An alternate scene fromTotality.
Relationships: Crowley/Gabriel (Good Omens)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 52





	Cold-Blooded

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Totality](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27526483) by [rowenablade](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rowenablade/pseuds/rowenablade). 



> Mind the tags. This fic contains non-consensual somnophilia and is very dark in tone. 
> 
> This is just a scene that got stuck in my head that I couldn't make work with the plot of Totality. However, I think it's plotless enough that you don't need to have read that fic to follow this one. For those that have read it, this interlude takes place sometime between Chapters 5 and 6.

Of this Gabriel can be certain; he’s not a monster.

He knows this, because it has been stressed to him again and again that no matter how many monstrous things the humans do, God still loves them. They are not to be treated as beasts. They can be redeemed, can be made clean in the eyes of the Lord, even though so many of them sin, even though some of them have the audacity to doubt Her very existence.

The humans cannot be monsters. And Gabriel remains an angel, and therefore above the humans.

Never is this more obvious than when he seeks out Crowley.

The demon makes his homes among the worst of them. He’s welcome in every den of iniquity, sliding into the background as if he’s always been there (which, in a way, he has). Wherever lust conquers love and greed conquers charity Crowley can be found; the challenge is not in the finding of such places but in the narrowing down of possibilities.

It’s been a long search this time, but Gabriel’s tracked him down. 

Music can be heard coming up through the floorboards beneath his feet. The places he finds Crowley are often loud, often choked with the smell of smoke, humid with the feel of human sweat seeping into the air. Gabriel has to bathe in the light of supernovae to feel clean again, and yet still he finds himself coming back.

Has he been tempted? Yes, he’s sure he has. Crowley can’t help but be what he is. Yet Gabriel’s grace remains, and so the fight continues.

Something is different this time. Crowley’s familiar lanky form is sprawled on the bed, red locks falling in his face, and Gabriel waits for his demonic senses to alert him to his presence. Waits for those limbs to shift, those yellow eyes to open and for their little game to begin.

But Crowley doesn’t move, save for the soft rise and fall of his ribs as he breathes.

He’s sleeping, and so soundly he hasn’t noticed Gabriel’s arrival, even on a metaphysical level. So soundly that even as Gabriel curiously approaches the bed he doesn’t so much as twitch.

The room smells of wine. Gabriel knows that Crowley is inclined to indulge in mortal food and drink, but it never occurred to him that the demon would be so foolish as to allow his physical form to become overwhelmed by it. Doesn’t he remember there’s a war going on? Doesn’t he realize how many enemies he has, how many angels would relish this chance to catch him off guard, to eliminate his stain upon Creation forever?

In a way, Crowley is lucky that it’s Gabriel who has found him like this.

He’s lying on his side, sheets twisted around his naked hips, skin gleaming gold in the soft light that Gabriel has brought with him. It’s the same heavenly glow that he appears cloaked in before the prophets, and in it even the Serpent of Eden looks young and vulnerable. With his features so relaxed in repose, Gabriel can almost imagine the angel he must have been once, the holy innocence that face must have worn.

It’s such a different version of the demon than the one Gabriel usually sees. His mouth is much more appealing like this than when he’s using it to sneer insults. Gabriel reaches out to touch his lips and is surprised by how soft they are. They’re never soft when he kisses Crowley, close as they are to his spiteful teeth. For Gabriel, kissing is a way to shut Crowley up, not a way to enjoy him.

Now, though, if Gabriel kissed him, Crowley wouldn’t resist. 

He thinks about it, then probes farther with his fingers instead. Crowley’s tongue is warm and soft, much like certain other parts of him, and it occurs to Gabriel that he’s seen Crowley use his mouth in _that_ way as well. The humans he does it to seem to enjoy it, but humans enjoy all sorts of things Gabriel doesn’t understand. Crowley’s mouth is a source of venom and lies, not pleasure. Gabriel knows that better than anyone.

And yet. Wet. Soft. Warm, so warm, and with Crowley so relaxed…

The thought barely skips across his mind before it settles as a heavy ache in his groin. His Effort stiffens and his breath catches in his throat. Perhaps Crowley can in fact sense this on some level, because he stirs, arms drawing up in front of his face as if to block the light.

Well, that won’t do at all. Understanding that he’s made his decision, Gabriel takes Crowley’s wrists and draws them back down. A pulse of energy, and now Crowley’s hands are bound with thin silk cord. Black, naturally. Gabriel knows Crowley likes black.

A matching silk scarf appears in Gabriel’s hand, and this he winds around Crowley’s eyes. Darkness, to deepen Crowley’s sleep and make things just that little bit easier for Gabriel, should he suddenly wake up.

Gabriel doesn’t think he will. He doesn’t want him to.

He takes a moment to admire the picture he’s created, but he’s fucking _aching_ at this point and can’t appreciate it for long. 

He undoes his pants and lets his Effort fall warm and heavy into his hand. Strokes it a few times, his other hand moving to cradle Crowley’s jaw. Gabriel is always surprised by how delicate Crowley can feel; soft skin stretched over fine, breakable bones. Right now there’s no need to break anything. It takes just the work of his finger and thumb to nudge Crowley’s mouth open, and just the lightest pressure to hold him like that. Not even enough to leave bruises, unless Gabriel wants to. He usually does, but this…this is nice, too.

He’s careful as he nudges the head of his cock past Crowley’s lips. He knows how hard the demon can bite. He grips Crowley’s hair in one hand, his jaw in the other, and shallowly thrusts forward. He feels the barest scrape of teeth and then the wet, almost painfully hot enclosure of his mouth. His tongue is slightly rough in texture and pushes back when Gabriel’s cock slides over it. Gabriel bites back a groan and holds still, letting Crowley adjust to the intrusion, holding his mouth open, just in case. 

He’s going to make Crowley regret it if he wakes up now. This is too interesting.

Crowley’s tongue flexes again and then seems to relax, jaw slackening in Gabriel’s hand. Gabriel tries thrusting again and finds himself sliding a little deeper, nudging at the entrance of the demon’s throat. 

It feels different than the other ways Gabriel’s had him. Normally fucking Crowley involves so much frantic energy. Holding him down, keeping him quiet. Physically it’s different too; slicker, not as tight, not as easy to build up a rhythm that can bring Gabriel to climax. What makes up for it is the exercise of power, the knowledge that Crowley would fight this, that he would thrash and bite and sob with rage if Gabriel tried to take this from him while he was awake.

“Can’t whine and complain now, can you?” he whispers, and pushes in again.

Crowley doesn’t answer, won’t answer, _can’t_ answer until Gabriel allows it. It’s beautiful.

Soon Crowley’s lips are stretched wide around the base of his cock. It’s easier to move like this, so he’s given himself a little more girth than usual. As he hits the back of Crowley’s throat he goes ahead and gives himself a bit more length as well. Crowley chokes and his shoulders hitch, but Gabriel isn’t worried. Crowley can’t suffocate, doesn’t need to breathe, and he’s not going to wake up. Gabriel doesn’t want him to, so he won’t.

Gabriel pushes back, holds Crowley firmly by the hair and shoves deep into that silken warmth. The long muscles in Crowley’s neck constrict, squeezing Gabriel tightly and then _pulling_ him in, like he’s trying to swallow him all the way down. It’s so unexpected that Gabriel’s concentration nearly shatters, the spell keeping everything just the way he wants it wavering…but it holds. 

“Nice try, you filthy little snake,” Gabriel pants. 

Crowley’s throat keeps working, gripping him, practically sucking on him. As far as his reptilian characteristics go, Gabriel likes this one a lot more than the eyes or the scales. Crowley’s thoroughly accommodating now, breathing easily through his nose while Gabriel fucks his mouth with increasing roughness. There’s still some scraping of teeth, but he doesn’t care. If anything it’s enhancing the whole thing, reminding him how dangerous Crowley is, reminding him that Crowley _deserves_ this.

_This is the mouth that spoke to Eve,_ he thinks. _The mouth he used to bring the concept of sin into the world._

This is the best possible use that Crowley can aspire to be put to, as an instrument of an angel’s pleasure.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” he growls as a particularly hard thrust makes Crowley gag again. 

Despite Gabriel’s rough handling of him, the blindfold stays in place. Gabriel imagines for a moment that Crowley _has_ woken up, that his eyes are open behind the black silk, and that he hasn’t struggled or made a sound of his own volition.

Perhaps he thinks it’s another standard temptation. Perhaps that’s what he was doing in this bed before Gabriel got here, letting anonymous humans come in one after the other and use him however they please. 

Or, even better, perhaps he knows it’s Gabriel. Perhaps his silent acquiescence is because he’s finally learned that this is what he’s meant for, that it’s Gabriel’s right to do whatever he wants to him, and none of his struggling or crying or begging will ever change that.

“Is that it?” He’s starting to tremble, from the exertion and from how close he is. “You’re not going to try to stop me, are you?”

Crowley doesn’t answer. He lies perfectly sweet and still.

“I bet you won’t even complain when I come down your throat. I bet you’ll swallow it like the greedy little slut you are.”

Gabriel’s probably right, but he doesn’t find out. When he starts to come he pulls himself out slowly, letting Crowley’s mouth fill with the taste of him. He won’t remember it, but it doesn’t matter. Gabriel will. The next time Crowley makes that disgusting hissing sound and calls him ‘Gabs’, Gabriel is going to think of this exact moment.

Knees weak, Gabriel steadies himself against the wall and catches his breath. Looks at the mess he’s made of Crowley. 

It’s a shame Gabriel can’t leave him like this. He imagines Crowley waking up, still bound and blindfolded, throat sore and mouth sticky with come. Confused, frightened, with no idea who’s had him. Maybe calling for help, maybe just crying silently with shame. Because he knows he deserves this. He knows he deserves worse than this, every day for the rest of eternity.

It’s a nice idea, but it’s not a risk Gabriel can take. He cleans himself up first, making sure his clothes and hair are perfect once more, then tends to the demon. With a wave of Gabriel’s hand Crowley is cleaned up and unbound. His eyes are still closed, his breathing soft and heavy. 

Gabriel smiles. He lays two fingers against Crowley’s temple, and gently removes any subliminal traces of the memory that might have filtered through to the demon’s consciousness. Crowley shudders a tiny bit, but sleeps on.

He looks innocent once again. He really is so good at what he does.

“Have a nice dream,” Gabriel tells him, tapping him lightly on the temple again. “Dream of something you like.”

Gabriel’s not sure what a demon might like to dream about, but he’s the Messenger of the Lord. Dreams are a second language to him. He instructs Crowley’s mind to give him a dream of something that tastes good, something he likes, filling his mouth and sliding down his throat.

Just a little subconscious priming, for the next time Gabriel might want to try this.

Besides, Crowley’s earned himself a little reward. Gabriel’s not a monster.


End file.
